


A Most Intimate Experiment

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2010)
Genre: Butt Plugs, D/s, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In those more intimate aspects of our association, observing the dichotomy in which you so often find yourself, Colonel, torn between your resistance to what I inflict on you in the little games we play and your acquiescence, no, your <i>appetite</i> for it, is quite intoxicating. Put plainly, Moran, your helpless arousal at my treatment of you excites me. </p><p>Now, these objects I understand have a rather intimate and profound effect on the male internal organs, which in turn produces similarly interesting <i>external</i> symptoms. You will become aroused and possibly <i>erect</i> whether you wish to be or not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposal and Hypothesis

"Come here, Sebastian. I have something for you." The Professor is sitting at his desk, pen in hand, writing rapidly in a combination of Roman letters, Arabic numerals and assorted other symbols across a fresh page of his working notebook. In his other hand, he props open a mathematical journal, scrutinising the text intently in between his own jottings.

Moran wanders over to the desk, his mouth twisted up to the side as he worries at a tag of dry skin on the edge of his lip. He glances at the Professor's scribbles; totally indecipherable to a fellow such as himself. Sometimes the Professor will sit him down and attempt to elucidate some mathematical point that has especially captured his fancy, and Moran normally leaves such encounters knowing as much (or as little) as he did at the outset, although he must admit that he particularly enjoys the Professor’s expositions on astronomy. 

Even to a seasoned campaigner such as Colonel Moran, habitually dispassionate when exposed to what others might term _the wonders of the world_ or _the beauties of nature_ , the long, hot nights spent under the velvet, star-filled skies of India and Afghanistan have left him with something of an appreciation of the infinite, if nothing else. 

"Professor?"

"Take a seat, Moran. I must complete this part of my critique of the methodology employed in this dissertation, and then I shall be all yours." The Professor twists his mouth in a wry smile and raises his eyebrows as if in amusement, but then returns to his writing.

Moran leans back in his chair and considers his nails. He is a man of action and lounging around waiting for the Professor to finish whatever it is he is doing is irksome for him, to say the least. He would normally have employed his time in cleaning his nails with his penknife, but he knows that the Professor frowns on such vulgar activities being carried on in his study.

At last Moriarty sits up, rolling his shoulders and sighing with the contentment of a man pleased at a job well done. "I must thank you for your patience, Moran. My deliberations took rather longer than I had anticipated. Now, I have something of an experiment to share with you."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Yes, my dear Sebastian. I have acquired an item of which I have read the most intriguing reports, and consequently I require a willing collaborator to assist me in ascertaining whether said reports are accurate."

Moran looks dubious. "And how do I _collaborate_ in this experiment then, Professor?" 

The Professor flashes the wry half smile again and opens his desk drawer, retrieving a small rectangular box, which he opens to reveal a glossy, elongated solid cylinder of what appears to be some type of stone or polished wood. The object is about 5 or 6 inches long, tapering slightly at one end to a rounded tip, and tapering more steeply at the other before flaring out to a flat, circular base. Into the base are set thin leather straps, some buckled and some set with punched holes.

Sebastian stares at the object in some confusion before the realisation of what its purpose may be dawns upon him.

"My goodness, Colonel. I do believe that you are blushing." Moriarty regards him calmly, although the way in which the tip of his tongue darts across his slightly parted lips suggests that he may be experiencing some emotion beyond simple amusement at his marksman's discomfort.

"I dunno what you think you're going to do with that, Professor, but - no. No bloody way."

The Professor turns the object over in his palms, then places it back in its box. "Italian marble - quite beautiful. Such objects are encountered way back in antiquity, Sebastian. The ancient Greeks called them _olisbos_ , and used them to pleasure one another and themselves. In more recent times, speakers of the romance languages refer to such items as _godemichets_ or _dildos_. Indeed, a recent paper by a European academic prescribes their use in maintaining the health of the human male by conserving semen." Moriarty sighs, his lower lip in its characteristic pout. "There is truly nothing new under the sun." He turns back to his chief of staff.

"Knowing that, Sebastian, that there is nothing particularly novel or perverse in we humans using such objects for our pleasure, will you not participate in this experiment? If it is easier for you to bear, I can simply order you to do so, as you know. Which will be more humiliating for you, hmmmm? Using such an object on yourself willingly, or having no choice in doing so?"

"But why, Professor? You've fucked me enough times, God knows, that I ain't worried about having nothing up me, but this - I dunno - it's too bloody big and too bloody hard!"

"Tsk, tsk, Colonel, I rather think you do me a disservice in saying so, but - let that pass. Why? Primarily because I require your obedience and that you follow my directions to the letter. Whether that may be in performing some aspect of your duties in my employment, or in refraining from drinking to excess or becoming embroiled in petty brawls, or in the more _intimate_ facets of our relationship, it matters not. I expect you to defer to me in every respect. 

But also because, in those more intimate aspects of our association, observing the dichotomy in which you so often find yourself, Colonel, torn between your resistance to what I inflict on you in the little games we play and your acquiescence, no, your _appetite_ for it, is quite intoxicating. Put plainly, Moran, your helpless arousal at my treatment of you excites me. 

Now, these objects I understand have a rather intimate and profound effect on the male internal organs, which in turn produces similarly interesting _external_ symptoms. You will become aroused and possibly _erect_ whether you wish to be or not."

Moran bites furiously at his lip, a gnawing in his gut that this is somehow just too wrong, even though his intellect is laughing at his consternation; _you are a sodomite and an invert and a murderer, yet this is too much?_ And, similarly, caught in exactly the quandary that the Professor has just outlined; not wanting to be penetrated by some inanimate object for the Professor's amusement, but unable to prevent his prick twitching at the prospect of being forced into such a position of impotent arousal.

Hanging his head in acquiescence, he mumbles, "Very well, Professor, I'll do as you say."

"Very good, _very good_. Remove your jacket and come here, then. Yes, over the desk - very good."

Moriarty reaches around to unbutton Moran's trousers, then pushes the braces from his shoulders so that the trousers slip down his hips. Moran shuts his eyes as the Professor slides his underclothes down, and pushes him forwards on to the desk, so that he is bent over with his head on his arms and his backside bared. He hears the chink of a bottle being unstoppered and then the Professor's fingers are at his entrance, stroking the lubricating oil over him and probing at the tight ring of muscle.

Moran gasps as he is opened up, the Professor's long fingers massaging him skilfully and relaxing him before slipping inside and stroking him in a way that makes Moran moan into his clenched fist. The Professor places his free hand squarely on the back of Moran's neck and presses down firmly as thrusts his fingers harder into the prone sniper. 

"My dear Colonel, you are quite breath-taking like this, becoming completely undone before my eyes. I am anticipating a great deal of pleasure indeed, for us both, once you are filled with our new toy." 

Moran groans aloud in humiliation and arousal as the cold, slick, blunt end of the toy presses against his anus, Moriarty using just enough pressure to begin to work the tip in and out of him. 

"How eager and wet you are, Colonel. Anyone would imagine that you had pleasured yourself in this manner before. How does it feel? Cold? I imagine so. Hard? Indeed. Invasive? I most certainly hope so."

"Yes, yes, God damn you! All of those! Dear God, _Professor_." Moran's eyes are screwed shut, the hair at his temples dark with perspiration, his forehead creased in tension as the thick, cold length pushes inexorably into him.

"Ah, now here comes the hardest part, Colonel - the flare before the base. It will stretch you, it will _hurt_ you, but that will pass quickly once the thickest part is inside you."

With a wet sound, the flared section breaches Moran's anus and only the base of the toy remains visible, a dark circle nestled between his buttocks. Moriarty twists it slightly, prompting a further series of groans from the man helpless before him. He makes short work of buckling the straps around Moran's groin and waist, before pulling him upright and gesturing for him to rearrange his clothing, noting with interest and anticipation the other man’s rather stiff and careful movements.

"Well done, Colonel. I think a short excursion to the park is called for – I have neglected my pigeons for far too long. A cab awaits us outside. You can describe to me on the way how it feels to have one’s backside impaled, and whether you experience any of the external symptoms I alluded to earlier. Come along now.”

Stifling another groan, Sebastian follows his Master obediently out to the waiting cab.

_To be continued…._


	2. Testing the hypothesis

If Moran found the walk through the house uncomfortable, the cab ride is excruciating. As the cab’s wheels clatter over the setts of stone and wood, it seems to him that every shake and jolt of the carriage is focussed directly on his backside. That is not to say that the sensations produced by the toy are entirely unpleasant; on the contrary, the constant stimulation of Moran’s internal organs results in a persistent state of semi-priapism, not ameliorated by the Professor pulling the cab blinds down and massaging his marksman’s length through the tweed of his trousers.

“Oh God, _Sir_.” Moran leans in to the Professor’s side, eyes closed and lips apart as his breath comes in gasps. Just as it seems that the stimulation is too much, the cab pulls to a halt.

“Ah, here we are!” The Professor springs from the cab like a boy out on a bank holiday jaunt. “Come along, Moran. We must not keep our feathered friends waiting!”

Moran steps from the cab far more gingerly, buttoning up his jacket and pulling it down over his hips. “Professor, I ain’t walking about looking bloody indecent. All we need’s a copper come along and he’ll have us up before the beak ‘fore you can say knife.”

“Oh, we don’t need to walk, my dear Colonel, not very far in any case. I thought that we might take a short constitutional to the nearest bench, and then feed the pigeons. I have a bag of breadcrumbs with me, most obligingly prepared by cook this morning. Come along, take my arm, Sebastian.”

Grumbling under his breath in what sounds to the Professor suspiciously like rather coarse language, Moran threads his arm through Moriarty’s and walks stiffly beside him. Later, they cannot have spent more than half an hour on the bench, the Professor cooing and chirruping as the pigeons gobble up the crumbs, but to Moran it seems an eternity, sitting legs crossed to cover his embarrassment.

As they return to the cab, the Professor sauntering ahead, whistling good-humouredly, Moran doing his utmost not to hobble as he endeavours to keep up, a pair of horsemen trot past, tipping their hats politely. Moran feels himself blanch as his eyes meet the Professor’s, Moriarty’s eyebrows rising fractionally. “Oh, no, Professor. No bloody way!”

“Ah, but you said that initially about your present predicament, did you not, Sebastian? Hmmmm. I would be most intrigued to measure the effect of riding - _trotting_ \- whilst bearing your present burden. An experiment for another day, perhaps? Further evidence to test the hypothesis – reproducibility and repeatability must of course together form an essential step in the scientific method."

~ 

“Unbutton your jacket, Sebastian.” The Professor pushes Moran back against the seat, forcing his knee between the sniper’s spread legs and rubbing his thigh against the inseam of his trousers. Sebastian groans and thrusts up against his Master’s leg, seeking some relief after the enforced stimulation and frustration of the last few hours. “Ah, ah, no, Moran, you may _not_ rut against me in that fashion. I shall allow you release when I am ready to do so, and not before. You must remember your _place_.”

Moriarty releases the pressure on his marksman’s groin, moving up over his body to bury his face in the other man’s neck, and worry at the skin just below his collar with his teeth. Sebastian moans again, twisting against the larger man in an agony of frustration, stifling a shout as the Professor bites him, almost hard enough to draw blood. “Please, Sir, _please_ , not like this. Anybody might hear us or see something. _Please_.”

“Very well, I shall let you be until we are home. However, you may wish to re-button your jacket before we arrive.”

Moran follows the Professor’s gaze down to his groin and is utterly mortified to observe a dark patch spreading on the tweed of his trousers. “Pre-seminal fluid, Colonel. An interesting development, if not entirely unexpected. I have to admit, however, that I am somewhat taken aback at the _quantity_ produced. I did not expect to observe so much flowing so freely quite so soon.”

“You _expected_ this, Professor? How could you let me walk around with me cock nearly hangin’ out and spunkin’ me bloody trousers?”

“Hush, Sebastian. As I said, I did not anticipate the volume of fluid you would produce or, indeed, how wonderfully humiliating it would be for you to _wet_ your trousers. Once we are in private, I may instruct you to massage yourself for me.” The Professor leans forward again to growl into Moran’s ear. “If this is the effect on your trousers, I cannot wait to observe the state of your underclothes.”

~

As soon as the door to the study is locked behind them, Moriarty is upon Sebastian, forcing him back against the wall and plundering his mouth violently with lips and teeth and tongue. Moran returns the embrace eagerly, twisting his fingers in the Professor’s hair and holding him tight against him. When Moriarty breaks the kiss, both men are flushed and breathless.

“Remove your clothes, Sebastian. I want you naked. Do it – now!”

The Professor settles back into the leather armchair before the fire and strokes his rapidly hardening length through the material of his fine dress trousers, watching his sniper disrobe. Sebastian’s body is wiry but well-muscled, beautifully freckled, a smattering of auburn hair covering his chest and running down from his navel in a stripe of a slightly darker hue to his groin. The wide, jagged diagonal scar across his chest and abdomen, and the scattered smaller ones covering his body only add to his animal attractiveness, in the Professor’s opinion. There is something of the feral, the untamed, still, in his tiger, the wildness lurking under the surface only enhancing the sweetness of his submission to his Master.

Sebastian stands, naked, before him, his impressive manhood standing up thickly erect and almost purple in hue, unabashed as a further trickle of fluid leaks from the swollen tip, his eyes locked with the Professor’s, the leather straps at his thighs and waist focussing attention on his groin.

Moriarty beckons him over, indicating that he should straddle his lap, observing with a jolt of pleasure the shudder of humiliation that passes through Moran as he spreads his thighs to kneel astride the Professor. He unbuckles the straps, letting them fall aside, before reaching between Sebastian’s thighs and underneath his scrotum to grasp the base of the toy firmly, manipulating it to elicit a low moan as the sniper closes his eyes.

“No. Eyes open, Sebastian, and fixed on mine. I wish to observe you as you rut against me. I want you to _fuck_ yourself upon your toy and I want you watch you as you do so.”

Bracing himself against the Professor’s shoulders, Sebastian lifts himself up, groaning as the flared end of the toy pops wetly from his tight sphincter, and then again as it slips back inside as he lowers his hips again. “Faster, Sebastian. I instructed you to _fuck_ yourself.”

Moran bounces faster on the Professor’s lap, face flushed red with arousal and mortification at the wet sounds of his penetration, improbably loud in the quiet study, wanting to close his eyes and concentrate on the pleasurable sensations inside him rather than being closely scrutinised by the Professor and unable to forget that he is sitting on another man’s lap, fucking himself on a carved stone phallus for the other’s amusement.


	3. Conclusion

The muscles in Sebastian's thighs are tiring and beginning to cramp, but he continues to rut himself on the toy, as the Professor regards him almost dispassionately, as if he were simply a curious specimen in some scientific study. The Professor's lips are pursed, his eyes dark with arousal, and Sebastian wants simply to lose himself in that mouth and those eyes.

"Sir, may I kiss you, please? Sir, I am so close, please Sir."

"No! To both, Sebastian. You shall not climax without my permission." Moriarty grasps his sniper's straining erection, and digs his thumbnail into the tip, hard. Moran's shout of pain echoes around the quiet room, and he slumps down wetly back on to the toy.

"Over my lap, Sebastian. It seems you need to be reminded of your place."

Moriarty moves forward so that the sniper can drape himself over his lap. It is an entirely inelegant position, but that only adds to Moran's humiliation. The Professor runs his fingers lightly over his subordinate's buttocks, noting the smattering of freckles even here on Sebastian's skin, and the deep auburn hair covering his thighs, running up between his legs to where the toy nestles darkly. Moran's manhood is hard and hot between the Professor's thighs, but he moves his legs apart slightly, not allowing Sebastian even the slightest friction. Moran has done very well today, so far, but the Professor's sexual sadism, his _need_ to dominate and hurt the other man, must be given vent.

"I wonder how you would look branded, Sebastian. A permanent reminder of your subjugation, hmmmm? With your scars and your barely subdued ferality, a brand of ownership could only compliment your raw animal sensuality, I think."

The Professor strokes and squeezes the creamy, muscled flesh, before bringing his open palm down hard on Moran's upturned buttocks, making him gasp and wriggle slightly in his lap. Moriarty grasps the short hair at the nape of Sebastian's neck, pulling and twisting his head up and back. "Be still, Sebastian. I wish to see your backside as dark and flushed as your _cock_ , so we shall be here for some time."

The Professor brings his hand down again and again, alternating between cheeks, and sometimes hitting the base of the toy squarely, forcing muted howls of pain or arousal from Sebastian, his other hand still holding his hair tightly. Eventually, only when Moran is almost sobbing with pain and frustration, does he desist, stroking his flaming backside in satisfaction. "You look less of a man now, Sebastian, and more of a red-rumped baboon, which is somehow rather fitting, given the noises you have been making.

Down, now. Crawl to your ring and hold on to it. I want your head on your hands, your backside up, and your thighs spread. We have established, earlier, that you are swollen and wet and _ready_ so you will require minimal preparation, if any, before I _fuck_ you."

Moran obeys without question, sliding to the floor and making his way on hands and knees to the tiger pelt before the hearth. He rolls it back to reveal the solid iron ring set into the stout wood of the floorboards. The Professor has of course derived a great deal of pleasure from chaining his tiger to it, having had it set into the floor soon after Sebastian entered his employment, as part of the intimate games of dominance and submission they enjoy together or, not so enjoyably, for Sebastian at least, when the Professor has to discipline him. 

He grasps the ring in both hands, kneeling as the Professor has instructed him, thighs spread and backside tilted upwards for taking. He hears trousers being unbuttoned and then the Professor is behind him, the cloth of his dress trousers scratching at his sore buttocks. Of course. The Professor is still fully clothed, whilst he is totally naked, another reminder for Sebastian of his place. For another man a shameful and degrading position to be in perhaps, one to blight the appetite and wither away arousal, but, for Sebastian, to be taken and used in such a fashion by his Master a prospect that makes his tumescent prick twitch and drizzle more pre-ejaculate over his taut, swollen balls.

The Professor simply grasps the end of the toy and pulls it out roughly, with a wet _plop_ , and puts it aside. Sebastian's entrance is flushed as dark as his cock and buttocks, swollen and red from the enforced penetration and stimulation. Moriarty dips a fingertip into the fluid coating Sebastian's scrotum, and runs it around the inflamed sphincter, the man kneeling before him moaning uncontrollably and attempting to push himself back on to the Professor's digit.

Moran deserves his release, Moriarty decides and, without further pause, enters him in one brutal thrust, burying his length to the hilt in his marksman's hot, tight, wet hole, forcing him forwards on to his face with the force of the penetration. He grasps the sensitive flesh at the junction of Sebastian's hips and legs, pulling him back on to his shaft, arranging his legs wider apart than he would have considered Moran capable of accommodating, but Sebastian's moans and gasps of pleasure as he is reamed would indicate that he is relishing being used so violently.

It takes only a couple of twists of the Professor's wrist on Sebastian's cock before he is arching back into his embrace, his scream of climax muffled by the Professor's hand across his mouth, twisting and bucking in his lap as rope after rope of semen splashes hotly across the Professor's hand, and Moran's belly and chest. Sebastian's sphincter contracts again and again around the Professor's deeply buried length, his gasps of pleasure as the aftermath of his orgasm shudders through him almost sobs of release.

When Moriarty is sure that Moran is spent, that even the twitches and spasms of climax having faded away, he turns him over so that he is lying on his back. The Professor shifts up his marksman's body and straddles his face, pinning Moran's arms to the floor with his shins. With a hand grasped again in Sebastian's hair, he tips his head up, pushing at his lips with the swollen tip of his manhood. Sebastian opens his mouth obediently, sucking the Professor's length deep into his throat, as he has been taught to, lathering at it with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks and tightening his lips around the fat shaft.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked on his Master's, partly shadowed by his shaggy auburn brows, the usual vivid blue blown black with the aftermath of his orgasm. With a shudder and a groan the Professor spends deep in his throat, Sebastian ensuring that he swallows down all of his issue, licking the softening length clean before the Professor withdraws. They lie together, utterly spent, and totally satiated, in the flickering firelight.

Moriarty brushes a stray lock of hair from his sniper's face. "You have performed admirably today, Sebastian. I am most pleased with you; the results of our most _intimate_ experiment have far surpassed my expectations. Now, normally I would suggest a hot bath but the day's activities have no doubt left you fatigued. I shall cleanse you with some hot cloths and then we shall turn in, I think. Come long, chick."

The Professor supports his limping, exhausted, chief of staff as he leads him through into his - _their_ \- bedroom. The warm, lemon-scented cloths have hardly left his skin before Sebastian is curled up, nuzzling into Moriarty's side. He extinguishes the lamplight and settles under the counterpane against his marksman, allowing blissful sleep to claim them both.


End file.
